


Forfeits!

by TheSingingCynic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America (Hetalia)/England (Hetalia)/France (Hetalia) - Freeform, America/England/France - Freeform, Frukus - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSingingCynic/pseuds/TheSingingCynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and France want to play a game... FrUKUS fluff ensues. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I were playing this game and I realised what a wonderful ice-breaker this would be for my favourite Nations!

Sir Edward Elgar’s symphony no.1 coloured the evening, inanimate shadows waltzed the large room as the flickering fire sprung the darkness in to song. England watched the performance in a leather armchair, sipping his tea. It was an unusually cold autumn evening, even for England, but in this tranquil corner everything subsided. England closed his eyes, letting the gentle violins ease him in to a peaceful rest. 

Until the rapture called. England was torn from his blissfulness by four boisterous knocks on the door. He sighed and smoothed his uniform on the way to address the bombardment. Hand reaching out to the handle…

“England! Hey England!!” More banging. England withdrew in horror. 

“That damn Yank, what is he doing here?” 

“England, c’mon man open up! I think it’s gonna start raining out here in a minute!”

“He hasn’t seen me yet, I can still escape.”

“ENGLAND! I know you’re in there, there’s smoke coming from your chimney! Open the door, it’s your buddy America!”

“ETTT MOOOIIII!!” A secondary voice sung it’s way through the mahogany.

“Oh Christ, not the Frog too!”

The banging hadn’t ceased; in fact it had picked up ferocity. 

England clenched his fists before regrettably, peeking the door open. 

“What?! What is so important you need to be incessantly banging on my door at such an ungodly hour.”

“Heyyyyyy buddy!” America grinned and forced the door open, barging his way through the entrance on his own welcome, France leaping in too. “What took you so long?”

“I was hoping you would give up.” England muttered. “But no. No. You are not staying. Neither of you are welcome. So what is it you want so we can get you chaps home?”

America wasn’t really paying attention, more distracted by the staggering high ceilings and Victorian architectural detailing, so different to his modern home. “OH! Yeah right, I brought a game! Come on in we’re gonna play.”

“No.” England was still standing by the front door, in hope they would see the appeal. But America had already crossed the hall following the crescendo to its source.   
“And I brought WINE!” France proudly producing a significantly large picnic basket.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening. I’m sorry gents if that’s all then I must request your leave. I have a very busy evening ahead.” He gestured enthusiastically to the door once again. 

France rested his arm on top of England’s head leaning on to him. “You think we are going to believe that sheet?” England shoved the man off in to the wall. Hard. And walked after America who had now found the living room. England’s patience wearing thin.

America was staring at a spinning contraption and some sort of horn prodding it quizzically. 

England sighed. “It’s called a gramophone. It is very old please, it plays the records, see. You hear how rich that is. And it is very old so please stop poking it.”

America had already lost interest and was skulking round the rest of the room, while France had sprawled out on the entire sofa making himself comfy. 

“Oh, please make yourself at home.” England glared at France. 

“Sweet!” America beamed ignorant of the sarcasm sat on the floor pulling up a low coffee table and placing a board on top. “So it’s called Forfeits! Basically we ask each other questions and if you get it wrong or pass you have to perform a forfeit! Oh! And you only get one pass each in the whole game, and it’s the first to get to 100 by rolling the dice!”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

France laughed. “Ahhh, you scared little England?” 

“I’m not scared! Isn’t that more your area?” England sneered at the man who had already uncorked his first bottle of wine. 

America grinned at them. “It’s ok if you’re scared man! I mean I would be if I was you and had to play against me. Hell maybe I should sit out and just watch you to because it’s hardly fair when it’s so obvious I’m going to win!” 

England growled and thrust his armchair so it faced towards the table, throwing himself in it with folded limbs. They weren’t going to leave so he’ll just have to make this go as quick as possible. “Fine! Let’s just get this over with. Shut up and roll.”

“OKAY!”


	2. Chapter 2

America rolled first; 1. His smile immediately dropped in to a pout and England and France burst in to hysterical laughter.

England wiped the tears stinging his eyes and was trying to get his breathing under control, unable to look at the blushing ball of moping verging on a tantrum on the floor. “Oh God this might not be so bad after all. Go on France you ask.”

“Hmmm, I’ll start of easy. Who is the Patron Saint of France?”

France screwed his face up in concentration. “Saint… Camembert?” 

France spat out his wine. “Saint Camembert??? You think we sainted cheese?!” He slapped America on the back of the head as he reached for the dice and rolled a 4. “Oh no wait, you have to do a forfeit! Ok let me see. Ohhhhh. It is perfect.” He rummaged in his picnic basket, retrieving a dinner plate size roll of cheese. “It is Saint Camembert! You must atone for your sins by eating this whole wheel.”

“Is that it? Pffft easy man!” He snatched the cheese unwrapping the paper and releasing the stench. England gagged and America threw the cheese across the room like an active grenade. “No way am I eating that!” 

France ran after the thrown produce and cradled it. “You stupid piece of American Pie you wouldn’t know good food if it slapped you in your burger inhaling face. Now eat it!” France shoved it in his protesting hole, enjoying the pain it was causing his rival. 

England was trying to hold back laughter and vomit, as was America with a mouthful of seeping cheese, half motioned half spat for them to continue the game, while slowly chewing his way through to the paper.

“Well then France, let’s see how you do with an easy one then. What is the national flower of Wales.” England queried. 

“Uhhh.” France scratched the back of his head. “Well you two are roses no? So, something to do with roses maybe? Merde. Uhh like a carnation?”

“Afraid not.”

“Not so easy is it?” Jested America, mouth lined with white cream, he tossed the empty paper aside with a disgusted huff. “So what is it then England? And pass me some wine I need to get his taste out.”

“Brace yourselves. Wales’ national flower is a leek! Although don’t ask him that he will deny it, but Scotland and I know, and it will always be a leek to us.”

France spluttered. “A leek? Why did he pick a leek?!”

England picked a bottle of wine from the basket in absence of scotch, one for himself and one he tossed to America. “It was probably the first vegetation he saw, knowing the lazy bugger. Now.” England smiled up through dark eyebrows, the shadows hollowing his face. He smiled. “As for your punishment. I think it is only fair for you to equalise with America by eating this.” England displayed the tea set, with a single scone standing proud. “Home made of course, and I want you to tell me how much you’re enjoying it.”

France visibly gulped, all colour fading from his face. “Please don’t make me.”

America laughed but the thick cheese still coated in this throat caused him to laugh snort and a trickle of cream dribbled out his nose. Which just made him gag more. “Come on dude I had to do it.”

“No you were treated to a French delicacy! I can not torture my pretty taste buds like this.”

“My scones are delicious thank you very much! And I’d appreciate the generous praise I’m about to receive.” 

France took a liberal swig from the bottle before forcing his hand to take the cake. A took a hesitant bite.

“Mmmmmm.” France forced. “It is so sweet and not dry at all.” England narrowed his eyes while France struggled to swallow and take a second bite. “It is so dense…in a good way.” One more. “And because they taste like nothing you’re not going to get fat on them.” He painfully swallowed the mouthful, sticking out his tongue for some gratification if a great achievement. 

“Is that what passes as a compliment in France?” England rolled his eyes and then the dice while France swilled wine around his mouth.

4 too. He moved his counter up with France’s. 

France and America consulted in hushed conversation before repeating together beaming; “Which one of us would you bang?” 

“What! I’m not answering that!”

“You have to!”

“NO!”

“Are you going to use your pass?”

England thought for a moment. ‘Strategically it is far too premature to use my only pass so early in the game. But how can I possibly answer this? I’m going to have to try and turn them against each other, make them decide for me.’ “No, I’ll answer it. But you know how indecisive I am…I need some help.”

“What do you mean?” France queried.

England folded his hands on his lap, now composed, once again the one in control. “I can’t make up my mind, so tell me why I should pick you.”

America stepped right up to the plate before France could question the rulebook. “Why would you want to get your freak on with France, when you could have prime cut, all American beef!” He grabbed his crotch like some sort of trophy. “Everything’s bigger in America! Go big or go home and baby and I’ll get big if you take me home.” You could almost hear the flag waving behind him.

England coughed; “Urm ok, very good, and you France?” 

France stood and made his way over to England holding his gaze, his hand reached out to his chin, he stooped over the chair, his face mere millimetres from England’s. His eyes staring at his lips while England’s eyes were getting wider. France leaned in, his lips ghosting over England’s almost but not quite brushing together as he whispered on to them.

“I’d make you beg.” His eyes snapped up to lock with England, withdrawing from the almost kiss, fingernail dragging up under his chin as he retreated.

England blushed profusely, and tried to turn his gaze away, unfortunately then catching America’s attention whose mouth was hanging open.

“What! That’s not fair!”

France was walking back to his seat, he flung his arm around the American. “Ah friend, do not feel bad you can’t satisfy a lover.”

“Who told you that?! I can too satisfy! I’ll satisfy the fuck out both of you! England come here!” America lunged towards the horrified Englishman.

“WOAH! No stop! Let’s just take a breath here chaps, I’ve made my choice from your…” England cleared his throat. “…performances. And based solely on that, I’d have to choose…” England grimaced. “…France.”

“Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh!” 

“Right, moving swiftly on. America your roll.”

America rolled with a grumble. 6. And just like that his damaged ego was forgotten. “Ah YES! That’s how you do it boys! Right hit me with it. Go!”

“What two animals are featured on the British Passport?”

“Oh I know this! A lion! I WIN!”

“No, two. Two animals, a lion and a?”

“Uhhh a lion and… a… sheep?”

“A sheep?!” England slammed down his wine, disgusted.

“Yeah, I mean you’ve got so many of them. So it’s a sheep right?”

“No you moron! It’s a unicorn.”

“But you said animal!”

“UNICORNS ARE ANIMALS!!” 

Ignoring France’s background snickering England weighed up appropriate punishments. “Sing the national anthem.”

“Is that it? No problem!” America stood fist thumping his chest “OOOOHHH SAYYYY!!!”

“Not yours.” England interrupted. “Mine.”

France giggled joining in. “Oui, oui! And in a French accent!”

America looked distraught. “But it’s basically treason, I’ll be a disgrace to my people!”

England was sneering. “We won’t tell anyone. Right France.”

“Oui, what happens tonight, stays in this room.” He winked.

America closed his eyes and took a deep breath. England drummed in the opening. America sang through gritted teeth. “God zave ar gracious Quiin, long leeve ar noble Quiin. God zave ze Quiiinn!”

France and England jeered: “Louder!”

American grunted but decided if he had to do it, might as well put on a show. His hand on his heart he belted with all his might. “ZEND ER VICTORIOUS! APPY AND GLORIOUS! LONG TO REIGN OVER US!!!” He leapt up to the window ledge standing with his back to the glass with a completely serious face eyeing his audience. “GOD!!!” His arms opened wide in proud showmanship. “SAAVVEEEE!!!” His hands moved from the air to his trousers. “ZEEEEEEE!!!” He thrust his trousers down revealing American flag boxer shorts and pressed his arse against the window for any poor passers by to witness. “QUUUIIIIINNNNNNNN!!!!” 

France applauded hysterically unfazed by the ridiculous portrayal of his accent, while England was torn between being appalled and laughing. “Get down from there at once, do you realise how disrespectful that is if anyone saw you!”

“Hey man, you’re the one that told me to do it.” America shrugged pulling his trousers back up. 

“I never asked you to display your under...” England pinched his eyebrows. “Actually, I’m extremely impressed you knew the words.”

“Ah, me too. I don’t know even know the words.” Added France.

“Unsurprising. In fact it’d be more shocking if you were sober enough to remember your own.” England spat his retort before returning his attention back to America.

America rubbed his forehead avoiding the gaze. “Ah, well you know. Just stuck I guess from hanging round here for so long.” He tried to move the conversation forward still eluding England’s hard inquisitive stare. “Come on Frenchy your move.”


	3. Chapter 3

4\. “I got this one, buddy. On American money it says; “In God we trust. It also says Annuit Coeptis.” What does this mean?”

France threw his hands up in a huff already defeated by the question. “Just give me the damn forfeit.”

But as America sucked in an excited breath but England interjected. “Shave your beard off.”

France recoiled in horror his hands springing to his chin’s defence. “Non! No! I will not do this! My beard, he is my lady pleaser you know? You can’t make them moan without a beard. Ask America he knows.” 

“That’s it! Come here, I’ll shave it off for you!” America grabbed the knife from the tea set and lunged for beard. England sipped his wine, contented.

France leaped away, running round the room trying to dodge the roaring boar on his tail. “No I will not do it! Get away from me you crazy American pig! Pass! PASS!”

England finally spoke up to pause the anarchy, for now at least. “America, he’s passed leave him be, if he want’s to keep that bum fluff let him.”

“Least I can grow one.” France muttered his retort still protectively stroking his chin. England glared at the man as he picked up to roll.

2\. “How many stripes are there on the American flag?” America hitched up his trousers making sure England couldn’t cheat.

“I’m not going to wrestle you down to your underwear America, I actually know this. Seven of each. So fourteen.”  
America imitated an obnoxiously loud buzzer. “SUCKER! Everyone always say that but no! 7 red but only 6 white! Eat it bitch!” 

While America did a celebratory air thrust France took over. “Every even roll…” He lit a cigarette, the virgin smoke clouding his face with a cat like smile emerging from its depth. “You have to remove an item of clothing.”

“NICE ONE MAN!” America held up his hand for a hi-five, France ignored it.

“Really guys. Strip Forfeits. Are we not too old for this.”

“Nooooope!” They chimed together.

England wound up for a verbal attack but stopped and released an; “ugh” instead. There was no point fighting the inevitable. 

America snatched the dice eager to begin England’s humiliation. 3.

“HA!” A gloating England inhaled some more liquid confidence for his soon to be strip tease.

“Awh mann. Well what’s the question then?” 

“Name three French landmarks?”

“THE EFI!”

“Besides the Eiffel Tower.”

America’s mouth opened and closed. “The Arc thing, Arc de Triumph?”

“Triomphe.” France corrected. “Oui what else?”

“Uhhh the hunchback of Notre-Dame?”

“…erm oui, I suppose that counts.” 

“And urrrmm. Like, urm a…giant white flag?”

“Waving frantically in the breeze. Yeah I do seem to recall that monument.” England cheerfully chimed in.

France saw red. England grinned. America turned white. France blasted a stream of colourful swear words. “VOUS AVEZ LE CORPS D’UN VACHE ET LE QI D’UNE DUREE DE CINQ ANS!”

During this little national dispute England had thought of a forfeit and announced his idea.

“America. For every odd roll you have to remove a piece of France’s clothing…. Without using your hands.” 

America pushed France away by his face, holding it in place effortlessly while France tried to swing at him. 

“You can’t do that, that’s like a punishment for both of us!” 

“It doesn’t say otherwise in the rule book. No contradiction: no conviction. Meaning yes, I most certainly can do it.”

“Hah! Good luck with the leather trousers mon ami.” France laughed in to the palm still over his face. He slid his tongue in between America’s fingers.

“Bleughh.” He whipped his hand back in disgust and rubbed the saliva, much to the trauma of England, into the sofa cushion. “Fine, it is a challenge I accept!” America bowed dramatically.


	4. Chapter 4

France rolled a 6. Eyes shooting up meet England staring back in cold defiance.

England huffed; “Calm yourself boys, it’s only the shoes.” England unlaced his boots and placed his socks inside, standing them next to his armchair to the wolf whistles of his companions. His toes stretched and curled against the warm wood heated by the fire behind him. He swallowed the final contents of the bottle pondering a question for France.

“Ok, France what is my famous dish.”

“Ahh well it is obvious! The fish ‘NNNN’ chips.”

“Afraid not mate. Stereotypes and truth often come hand in hand to some extent but not this time, the national dish is a good old roast. Meat, potatoes, veg and yorkshires. Top it off with gravy and you’ve got a perfect Sunday.”

“How do you make food sound bland? Truly some sort of…!”

England threw the empty bottle catching France in the stomach winding him.

“Watch your next sentence. Don’t forget who’s deciding your forfeits… actually… That is perfect. You know how fond you are of your mimes.” Sneered England.

“I wouldn’t say fond of, they’re just sort of always there. Eh harmless.”

“Great, so you know exactly what I expect until your next roll.”

France opened his mouth to protest.  
“Uh! Nope. Mimes don’t speak do they Frog?”

France flipped him off. England smiled smugly.

“So he cant talk for two rolls?” America interjected.

“Correct.”

“So we can say whatever we like and he can’t say anything?”

“Indeed. Not only that. Mimes can’t touch people either. So yes, for the next two turns we are literally untouchable.”

America’s confusion slowly transformed in to an open mouthed grin. “Soooo… We can talk about his girly hair?”

“Oh absolutely!” England snickered picking up the dice and rolling a 4. His eyes made contact with France with a cruel smile and turned away from his duties. “Maybe it’s one of his social laws. He could use his hair as a makeshift white flag if the wind was right.”

America burst in to laughter. But France’s flailing limbs stopped him. France was pointing at the board.

England’s eyes narrowed at the attempt. “Hey America.” He drew his attention back. “That’s it, ask your question. Go ahead.”

America turned to glance at the red face French man waving his arms behind his head. “But I think he’s trying to tell us something.”

“Don’t pay attention to him, that’s how they steal your money.”

“What really?!” He turned back to the mime in shock. Who was over dramatically gesturing at the dice, then mimed removing his shirt, then stabbing an accusing finger towards the Englishman. 

….

France repeated the action slower.

“OH ENGLAND! Don’t forget to strip!” America blurted.

France collapsed on to the sofa exhausted.

England muttered under his breath, foiled. He was already regretting taking his jacket off earlier due to the heat and the wine and as punishment now had to remove his shirt, folding it on top of his boots. Cursing a smug France opposite pretending to fan him self.

“Question timeee!! Hmmm OH! I know, what colour is Tony? Because I know you can see him damn it! You’re not going to take a loss over this!”

“What colour is your imaginary alien buddy? How am I supposed to know?!”

“HE’S NOT IMAGINARY! Not like your stupid unicorns.”

England growled his guess: “Green?”

“Damn it, no! They’re only green in the movies.” America huffed but not looking too much in to it continued. “Right forfeit? Hmm you got anything France.”

France nodded and mimed rolling up his sleeves. He pointed to America’s trousers. 

“Me? America? Man? Legs? Amazing?”

France shook his palms stopping the endless stream of meaningless nonsense. He pointed to America’s crotch, then placed his hand over his chest and tried to look majestic and patriotic as possible.

America raised his eyebrow. “….Hard hearted?”

He slapped his forehead. He tried again. He pointed to America’s trousers. And waited for the guessing again.

“Trousers? Clothes? Shorts? Err blue? Underwear? YES? UNDERWEAR!”

France was nodding enthusiastically. He crossed his arms one pointing at England the other at America. “Swap?”

France fist pumped the air, got it on the first try.

“Swap underwear with England. Hahahaha! He has to wear my flag! That’s hilarious good one France.”

“That is disgusting. What is wrong with you France?”

France shrugged happily and mocked zipping his lips.

“Well I’m not doing it.” He crossed his arms. America was already semi naked. Bomber jacket strewn across the sofa and was kicking off his jeans. 

England stood, maybe too quickly as he suddenly felt the affects of the alcohol he had been consuming. It washed over him, warming his body in friendly confidence and instability. He grunted at the suspenseful eyes encouraging him. Resentfully he puffed his chest out trying to look as nonchalant as possible…under the circumstances. He staggered slightly as he walked around the armchair, giving him some privacy to undress.

America booed. France mimed covering his nipples to display his disapproval too. But England still had slightly drunk delusions of dignity and stayed covered, lying his trousers over the backrest. 

France was waving manically at America who was transfixed by the undressing. Finally getting his attention France motioned for America to snatch up England’s clothes. Surprisingly he understood, more surprisingly he understood silently. So England who just placed his Union Jack boxers on the pile ready for the transfer, had no idea.

America darted forward in just his pants, ripped the clothes from the chair and grabbed the boots and jacket too, he hurdled past a nude England and headed for the door. England realised what was happening and screamed bloody murder. Body flushing red he tried to cover himself before realising he would have to give chase. He risked a glance back at France who was wetting himself, trying to laugh silently; the man was going to blow a blood vessel. 

England sprang after America, hand covering what he could of his indecency. He heard giggles down the corridor and followed them, skin slapping against the cold flooring. 

America swung the front door open, revealing a black night with a torrent of rain whipping past. He turned back to see England slowly approaching.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Each word he took a step forward as if not to scare away a frightened animal, it might have worked if his voice wasn’t so gravely terrifying. He reached out one hand towards the pile the other still cradling his manhood.

“America. I’m serious.” He was almost touching them but the drink had made his co-ordination slow. And just like that America shot them in to the raging outside.

England gasped before forcing himself out in to the raining war after them. America held the only remaining piece and swapped himself an American flag for a British. ‘Oh tight.’ They hugged his larger frame not leaving much to the imagination. 

England stormed back in. The weather following behind, he barged past the American stoking his own full buttocks. He marched straight back in to the living room a river trailing behind him and hung his uniform in front of the fire, his naked embarrassment washed away by rain and fury.

He faced a silent France and an apprehensive America had re-entered, he stared at them both hard, water fighting it’s way from his hair down his face, giant droplets collecting in this eyelashes.

“Give me the underwear.”

America threw his boxers to the sopping wet man. He stepped into them, too loose but acceptable. The pattern however was not. Which reminded him to look at America. America was unsubtly trying to claw his way out of a wedgie. 

England tried to force it down and hold on to the anger. But America’s pained expression, the absolutely ridiculous fit of the boxers plus the wine induced a choking laughing fit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter is heating up a little bit!

“You guys are fucking arseholes.” He climbed in to his chair smiling through chattering teeth. 

America dove for the dice and plonked down on the floor the tight boxers almost cutting off the circulation in his thighs. 5.

“Odd number, time to even the playing field America.” Giggled England, droplets bouncing down his chest.

America’s eyes lit up, he crawled on to the sofa with France, on his hands and knees he slowly skulked up the stretched out man. France turned his head in resistance to the show but America wasn’t making it easy. 

He seductively worked his way up to his chest, lowering his head in order to tear open the shirt with his teeth all while keeping eye contact. He unlatched the first two effortlessly, almost like a practiced art. But there was a detour before the third. America bit through the fabric trapping one of France’s nipples between his teeth, hard enough to leave a warm mark. France tried not to yelp and had to settle with a frustrated glare at America instead. 

England was watching intently hypnotised. 

“Whoops, clumsy me.” America smiled innocently, and returned to biting at the buttons. All but the middle button was undone now. He pulled at the collar negotiating France to sit up, America now sitting on his lap ducked his head to lick up the slither of skin exposed from the open buttons and his tongue looped round the final button ripping it free from the fabric. The silk shirt swam off France’s body and America stuck out his tongue revealing the button proudly.

France turned to England unsure about what just happened. England gulped and tried to steady his voice. “Wow, America. Who’d have thought you’d have talents with that big mouth of yours.”

He peeled the small trophy off his tongue. “Hell yeah! Right so what’s my question? This one I’m gonna get right I can feel it.”

England had to clear his throat again. “Okay, considering France is still honouring his vow of silence: What links all these names: Victoria, St. Pancras, Richmond and Leicester?”

“…Hmmm…Victoria was a Queen so… they’re all part of the Royal Family right?”

“Close but no.” England laughed; “Trains link the names! Because they’re all stations!” 

“That’s not fair, I knew that! That was a trick question!” America retorted. 

“Tough! Forfeit time, oh wait Beardy is trying to say something, what is it boy?” England sniggered and went rummaging for some more wine in France’s hamper hoping it would warm him from the cold jittering, also it left America to deal with the charades.

However, unnoticed during the previous commotion France used to time to acquire some paper and a pen, he quickly scrawled down something and passed it to America.

America read it out: “You have to warm England up using only your body.” 

England reeled up from his foraging. “What? How did…Did he write that? France that is cheating I’m adding another roll on to your silence.”

France’s nostrils flared but he decided it was worth it. 

“Why am I the whore of this game?” America crumpled the piece of paper and threw it over his shoulder in a mocking pout, neither England or France believed this act.

“Oh please, you love the attention. I’m starting to think you’re more a man whore than France.” England jeered trying to hide his apprehension on what was about to happen.

America jumped up with an eager flourish and determined eyes. But then stopped and repositioned his rising boxers; “Wait ignore this, this isn’t part of it.”

England smiled and relaxed a little watching the preposterous and completely unarousing display until America snapped in to action. He locked eyes with the dripping man, sauntered over to him, France silently clapping in the background. England tried to cross his legs instinctively and defensively but America caught the bare foot and placed a chaste kiss on the inner ankle. England almost choked at the intrusion. One of America’s hands were skirting up his leg, the other still holding his foot in place. The hand was getting higher. England lashed out and landed a kick to America’s ribs. “What are you doing you stupid yank?!” 

America regained his balance and grabbed the leg again which was ready to strike a second blow. He whipped the leg to the side so England’s legs flung open in the chair giving America space to kneel and nestle in between them, his hands back to running up England’s thighs. England was trying to swat the hands away but America continued undeterred. “I’ve got to warm you up, you’re freezing. But France said I can only use my body.” His face was getting way to close to England’s crotch. England was whacking him on the head. “And the quickest and most effective way,” America continued ignoring the beating; “Really the only way that will work is by getting you…hot.” America winked up at England. 

England’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. “France!” He called to the other side of the room for some help in this insanity. But France was beaming and motioned for America to continue. America grinned back at France and then dark seducing eyes returned their attention to their prey. England swallowed hard. ‘How does America’s eyes have such intensity and surety after consuming so much wine, why does it feel like the alcohol has only affected me and my judgement the most, I think this is getting out of hand.’

But America’s grip tightened on England’s knees as he pushed his torso up England’s body, bare skin sliding up stars and stripes. England sucked in a breath, his inner monologue forgotten. He watched the man slide higher up thankfully past his crotch but now it was naked chest against naked chest, the rain making it easier for him to slide his way up, and America was right, the connected skin was burning. 

America pushed himself up and placed his legs either side of England’s thighs and rested his arms against the back of the chair, completely trapping England. America started revolving his hips ever so slightly. A small arch that would graze his body against the crotch beneath him, barely touching but teasing enough to cause a big reaction. 

England’s breaths were coming out sharper, controlled little bursts, while he willed his body to behave. But America touched England’s chin affectionately, lifting it up, forcing him to look in the eyes, once he was sure England wasn’t going to look away his hand trailed from his chin to his neck applying enough sturdy pressure in the crook to make England half lid his eyes. The hand made it’s way back up in to the wet hair displacing shards of water and dispelling them down. The heat of Americas body pressing down on to him with each rotation, the solid chest wiping away the cold rain. Each time America withdrew England found he was beginning to lean up to meet him. America’s hips had started coming down a little harder. He dragged his fingernails up against the damp scalp, he felt England shiver.

England tried to repress a little moan; he rested his forehead on America’s chest, hidden in a cage of arms. It was painful. He bit his lip to hold in any weakness trying to escape. He was really burning up. He risked a glance at France through the tangle of limbs; France was no longer reclining on the sofa but instead sitting uncomfortably straight. England turned back to America, the Union Jack rising and falling in front of him. America’s back would shield his actions completely from France. Why should he be the only one suffering? England reached out a hand, a finger trailing the tight cotton. America paused briefly before continuing, as if to not draw France’s attention. England smirked. The game just got interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

His fingers danced around the fabric, following the trails of red lines. Until he took a deep breath and dragged one fingernail up the underside of the growing length. America reacted by suddenly moving one of his knees in between England’s thighs so now his grinding was coming down on England’s thigh but with every movement, America was pressing his knee in to England’s crotch. England gasped at this new solid and sure contact, he bit down in to the crook of America’s neck and he heard a satisfying shaky breath. England mirrored America’s thrusts with light teasing touches, barely making contact, he was sure America was trying to hide his whines. But America retaliated with more contact sliding his knee up and down England’s prominent length he shuddered against the hot chest. England sure his actions were still hidden from France skirted his fingers down Americas pulsating abs and dipped under the waist band, his hand finally palming America’s excitement.

But just as suddenly America had unlatched himself and stood up: “I think that’s enough.” England wasn’t sure whether it was directed at him or France, but the sudden withdrawal of contact undid all the warmth and he shivered. America stood unabashed at his state, bowed, took England’s hand and kissed it but ignored England’s questioning look, instead he span and took a second bow for his audience. England, even with the wine clouding his shame, quickly crossed his legs, grateful for the extra room America’s boxers gave him. Never was England more relieved that France couldn’t make a sly remark, it made it much easier to ignore the raised eyebrow pointed at him.

France blinked, he watched America return to his spot on the floor, he looked back at England who was still red and seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes darkened under pierced eyebrows. He looked back at America who was now holding out the dice for him. What else to do but roll? He learnt forward in his odd position on the sofa. 3. His face contorted. America saw the number a slow smile creeping towards his ears, the prospect seemed to have distracted England too who was also looking with his expectant evil expression. America bared his teeth ready. France threw his hands up shaking them and to stop America proceeding. He reached for the paper refuting England’s tutting and scribbled: “No Underwear!” 

America closest read it out. Both men started laughing, the air of unease already washing away with each giggle. But France’s pout still deepened despite it. “Sorry buddy, should have thought of that before we started!” Chuckled America.

“Gawn America sick him!”

America leapt on to the sofa attacking the poor horrified Frenchman; America gripped his legs and pulled him down the sofa, out of his protective sitting position. Revealing France’s hidden erection. 

“AHAHAHA ENGLAND COME LOOK AT THIS, FRANCE HAS A BONER!.”

England snorted and walked round the sofa, leaning over the back so his own erection was still concealed. “Awh France baby, I didn’t know you cared.” England snickered down at the trapped Frenchman who was growing increasingly red from embarrassment and frustration at not being able to talk himself out of it. 

France moved his lips in a silent growl then pointed at America who was still proudly flying the British flag. But England spoke before America could: “That is simply a reaction to close contact and accidental physical stimulation under your orders, not an indication of pleasure. The same could be achieved from a house plant.” America tried to judge whether England believed what he was saying but England refused to meet his eyes. 

America sighed and turned his frustration to the tight leather in front of him. It wasn’t going to be easy getting them off; he tried to think of a strategy but got bored and went for a full power attack instead. He buried his head in France’s crotch, France would have leapt off the sofa if America’s body hadn’t been pinning him down. England watched with a smirk. America was wrestling with the button. The metal clinking against his teeth as he tried to loosen it from the loop. Unsympathetic and vaguely oblivious to the friction his face was causing against France’s sensitivity. 

France knotted his eyebrows puffing out hot air. His fists were clenched and England watched the silent curses dancing on his lips and before he realised what his arm was doing, a hand swept stray hair from France’s face, France opened his pinched eyes to look at England. England was stroking his hair, easing him through whatever was happening. The green eyes calmed him, he wasn’t sure why, and the gentle securing caresses in his hair was making the bizarre situation feel natural. Until a lumbering America turned and sat on his face.

“Ah much better!” America had flipped himself round to get at a better angle for the zip. His knees either side of France’s head and he rested his weight on his hands which were holding down France’s wrists so he couldn’t wriggle free. He dipped down to attack the zip again. America could feel blasts of warm air tickling his own erection; it was slightly distracting but not unpleasant. 

France tried to move any limbs he could to send a message of distress but America just rested more of his weight on France’s face until he stopped fighting. Once America was sure France would stay still he leant forward more so he was hovering over France’s face rather than suffocating it. At this angle the button slipped out of the clasp much easier, he moved on to the zip, humming as he worked.

France’s eyes were wide, watching the pendulum bouncing and swinging with America’s every movement. He twisted his head to try and plead for help from England but he wasn’t there. He flipped his head trying to find England when he heard an escaped snort. England had fallen to the floor behind the sofa in hysterical laughter at the absurd sight. France was bright red, since when was he considered sexually repressed, especially against America and England! France decided that if he had to undergo this humiliation he was going to take them down with him. He blew a direct stream of air along the strained member, even through the cotton France saw a twitching reaction. 

America called him on it. “Hey France! No cheating this is hard enough as it is with out you trying to put me off man!” America grumbled as he was nosing against the zipper. “It’s stuck damn it.” France felt America get more and more aggressive so France decided to retaliate; he was sure from England’s position his actions would now be blocked by America’s solid arse. He lifted his head and ran the tip of his nose from the head towards the centre of the tight balls.

SMACK! America howled he almost collapsed, his elbows shook but he locked them not giving France the satisfaction, too much was happening. He whipped his face round to see England whistling nonchalantly pretending he hadn’t just spanked him with such force he could feel each finger print scorching it’s pink mark. He glared at the man who was annoyingly pretending to be focused on his fingernails. America huffed his tongue returning to the zip trying to loosen it at the same time feeling France’s tongue returning to dampen his underwear. All the drinking was making it hard to process all the information he was receiving all he knew was it felt too good but he had to focus on his job. However, the zip was so stiff and if France wasn’t wearing any underwear like he claimed he didn’t want to risk the zip getting caught on something it shouldn’t. 

He really tried to concentrate, but he felt a warm palm soothing the sting on his backside, a soft hand smoothing the fabric where the first hit was. America thought he was going to start purring. The smack had made the skin even more sensitive to the now gentle pamper. He realised he wanted more. He caught the zip between his teeth but at the same time waved his ass towards what he presumed was amused green eyes.

He heard hands clap together and the sound of sliding palms in preparation. He arched his back deeply holding his breath. Another violent crack on his other butt cheek. The howl was now a breathy moan through clenched teeth and the force had pushed him forward so abruptly it resolved the zip, finally springing down releasing its contents.


	7. Chapter 7

Red, white and blue forced it’s way through the leather. ‘So he is wearing underwear, was it just his erection he didn’t want us to see?’ America wondered as he nuzzled the difficult trousers further down his legs, displaying the whole of France’s underwear. America stopped. There was a spluttered noise that made England and France halt their mischievous teasing. America scooted down perching on France’s chest so England could see too. 

“IT’S A THONG!” 

 

“No bloody way! As if you couldn’t be any more of a tosser!” England burst in to fits. “This is why people mistake you for a woman!”

America was laughing so hard he slipped off France, landing hard on the floor. France was beetroot he kicked the rest of his trousers off and scuttled in to the corner of the sofa pulling up his knees trying to cover himself. America tried to heave himself up off the floor but as soon as he raised his head his eyes met a thin piece of string tucked between two pale cheeks, he blurted out more boisterous laughter unable to breath. France cursed internally trying to cover himself better.

“Oh come one France, when have you been self conscious about your fashion sense.” England slapped him on the back comradely. “Go on love, give us a spin.”

France blew a gust of disgust before getting up. ‘Merde. Fuck it. Why not, it’s comfortable and I know I look damn good. Those uptight blandies could never pull this off and they know it.” 

He whipped out his arms silencing the laughter. Strutted past them, the stretched French flag bobbing as he passed. America and England shut their sniggering and eyes following the gentle waves of France’s hips. Unleashing all the confidence he had France spun at the end of his runway, he ran his hands down his front, hips thrusting up to follow his rhythm, he knew he had them, he knew the were transfixed. So he slut dropped to the floor. Twisted on his heels so they could watch his tight arse slowly rise. He locked on to England still pressed in to the back of the sofa; France stalked up to him predatory and smirking. England felt the man’s full weight lean in to his back, his skin sliding down and then legs snapping open. England was glad he had the sofa to support himself when France’s fingers tingled up his back as he rose. 

France moved his attention to America who was still sprawled on the floor, he stood over America’s legs, trailing his hand down his chest and leaning forward so his perked cheeks were the focus. He jiggled his ass right in America’s face before jumping on to all fours. In the position America had over him a few minutes ago but now France wormed his body. Pulsating up and down, rhythmically almost grinding his crotch in to America’s face, but never touching. ‘Anticipation, make them want it.’ Thought France. 

Satisfied he got his pay back he returned to his sofa this time sitting open and comfortable. 

“Wow.” Whispered America before shaking his head and pushed the conversation. “I think I’ve have earned my question; so France what is the national language of the USA?”

“Well it’s certainly not English, we disown that butchery…” America glared at England who smiled apologetically. “Sorry, it’s instinctual. I couldn’t help myself.” 

However this exchange threw France, ‘it has to be English surely? Although there are a lot of cultures within the USA maybe… Spanish? Maybe Spanish was actually the majority language?’ France mimed his thinking then reached for the pad. He held it up; ‘ENGLISH?’ 

America pushed his glasses up. “INNNNNCORECT!”

France threw the notepad across the room. Folding his arms in denial.

“It was a trick question, the truth is we don’t actually have a national language, although yes the most common is English.” America beamed his victory, so pleased to have ‘outsmarted’ someone. 

England rolled his eyes at the sore winner: “Come on you gloater give him a forfeit.”

“Ah okk urmm you have tooo…” America looked round the room for inspiration. “Ok, you have to waltz with England.” 

France shrugged, easy enough. He stood the wine rushing to his head again and he swayed slightly before reaching England and offering him his hand. England rolled his eyes but smiled none the less. 

England swatted the hand off his waist. “No way frog, I’m leading.” France glared, his lips turning up in a threat; he tried to pull England’s hand on to his shoulder but England fought back trying to take the lead.

America interceded the bawl. “France you’re leading.” England snapped his neck to glare at America who was grinning back. “Its France’s forfeit so let him show you what he’s got.”

The next song was just begging to flow from the gramophone; DreamCather began its mesmerising intro, America turned it up letting it fill the room. England sighed but let France hold his waist and he took position on his shoulder, their other hands intertwining in the middle. There was still a respectable distance between the two bodies. When they were comfortable. France took a step forward. Immediately England almost tripped on France’s foot, unused to following. France waited silently then tried again. Locking eyes with England so he couldn’t over think his movements. 

The music took over. They were gliding the room, France moving them safely between any dangers yet some how all with out looking away from England. 

England had never noticed before, but this close contact, and probably his silence gave England a chance to really look at the man he had known for so long. There was intensity in his blue eyes, he’d seen the look years ago, before but why? An adoration for the music perhaps?

France knew this piece by heart; he knew he didn’t have long, 2 minutes left. A lot could be said in 2 minutes. He was waiting for his favourite violin part. The rich strings vibrated the room. As they span he pulled England in by the waist, closing the gap between them. England eyes flicked down and back up again in panic realising that his erection that still hadn’t subsided was now tucked firmly between them. As well as he had tried to hide it under the waistband France was sure to have felt it. He risked a look back in to the eyes he could feel on him. But instead of disgust, soft eyes were meeting his. A warmth and safety shaded blue. France shifted his hips to remind England he was in the same position. 

Their legs weaved in to each other effortlessly like a practiced art, but they hadn’t danced together for an eternity. It was something instinctual. Even America was amazed by the seamless beauty of it. They were peaceful in the waltz, France was sure the song was longer just so they could have a few more moments of pure intimacy. 

But inevitably the song echoed its end. It was a minute before they separated but when they did France bowed to his partner and England smiled displaying a mock curtsey. They took their respected seats to America’s booming applause! “That was fantastic! Man wish I could dance like that.”

England smiled at a warm memory trying to surface. “France and I tried to teach you, remember?” France mirrored England’s remembering smile. “…You were awful.”

America pushed up his glasses. “Hey no I wasn’t!”

“You had two left feet. When it comes to finesse and grace you don’t exactly excel.” England giggled at the man playfully shoving him with his feet, France joined in from the other side.

America huffed pouting, being pushed back and forth. 

“You could barely spin with out support, you had to stand on my feet if we wanted to get through the whole sequence.” England tittered. 

France wanted to jest the man but still couldn’t so he stood and mimed America’s failings. The over exaggerated flails had them all in hysterics again. 

England wiped a tear from his eye and located the dice. He rattled for a good number but ended up with a 2. 

“Come on America hit me.” His words slurring slightly.

“Maybe later” He winked, “But I’ve got to think of a question for you first. Hmmm if you could… if you could wipe one from history so it never happened, which would you undo; the French or American Revolution?”


	8. Chapter 8

The room was suddenly two people too silent. England’s cheer had vanished leaving the air feeling sharp and somehow empty. A vacuum, inhaling all the previous positivity. England wasn’t moving. France could see his muscles contract, his posture stiffen. America saw England’s eyes glaze over, a part of him was being dragged away from that living room and they didn’t know how to stop it.

England was fighting his reactions, all he wanted to do was pull his legs up to his chest and hold on tightly till the noises subsided. They were so loud. He was vaguely aware of America mouthing something but it was just coming out as a inaudible blurred murmur. The gunshots flew past his eyes. The worst part was coming. He was being left alone, it was drowning him, he grasped at his throat trying to remove the invisible suffocation. His ears pounded or was it his heart.

‘Keep composure from cradle to grave.’ England’s mantra was shouting at him from the trenches. His sanity trying to crawl back from dead man’s land. He clawed at the earth, dragging himself towards the voice. ‘You’re English! Keep your composure!’ The flashes of gunfire were slowing, the echo of shots dulling. ‘FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE’ England screamed back through gritted teeth. A painful inhale brought him back to the room. He never makes it to the voice that has brought him back so many times. 

The record player had finished. It must have ended a while ago but the company had distracted him. He abruptly brushed passed the two men selected a different record and put it on. Handel’s Sarabande coaxed him free from the swallowing silence. Only then was he able to speak. Back still to the two men watching him with curiosity and apprehension and neither would admit but fear. “Pass.”

He pulled another bottle from the basket and drank half of it immediately. He sat back in his armchair, composed once again. But still unable to look at either of them, his eyes were safely fixed to the board. France and America exchanged glances, as much as they wanted to question the reasoning, America couldn’t articulate concern with enough delicacy and France was still forbidden to articulate at all. There was nothing else to do but move on.


	9. Chapter 9

America rolled a 6. He risked a glance at England hoping for some instruction. 

“France.” France looked up but England was staring in to the dwindling contents of the bottle. “Your silence has been lifted.”

There was a pause and then an explosion. “I’M BACK PUTES! Ohhhhh you hear that? I’d almost forgotten what I sounded like. It’s beautiful no? Lyrical.”

Once again the atmosphere lightened, they always seemed to be on the brink of disaster. One wrong word and their relationships crumbles, but, one warm smile and they’ve resurrected, and right now England was trying to hold in a smile. 

France noticed. “It’s ok mon amor! You can say it! I know you missed me! Mmmm it’s like silk no? I could dress your nakedness with my words. Oh I missed me so much!”

“We need to figure out how to make his silence permanent.” America interrupted the egotism. 

“What?! No, never again!”

“Maybe there is a spell somewhe…” England chimed in.

“NON!”

“Or we could just get some superglue?” Suggested America.

“STOP!”

“A stapler could work?” England offered thoroughly enjoying the panicked Frenchman snapping his head between them. He let the laughter wash away the final grains of grey memories.

“YOU WOULDN’T”

“And my sewing could use a little practice. America hold him down.”

“Do…do you guys really prefer me mute?”

“Yes!” They replied simultaneously chuckling.

“Oh cheer up Kermit. Although I cant actually think of anything better than you shutting up forever, I suppose at some point…we would miss your idiotic pompousness.”

“Really mon cher?”

“Really. Though stop calling me that.”

“And you America?”

“Of course buddy! Who else is going to gang up on England with me.”

“Go on France you’ve earned the spotlight. Ask America a question.”

“I have the perfect question. America, it is legal to marry a dead person in France. True or false.”

“Ahhhhh no way dude! This is you trying to get me back for the trick question. But you’re not fooling me! Trying to pick something so outrageous that has to be false, so you want me to pick truth. HA HA you can’t trick and American! So no, there is no way that is true. False!”

“IT’S THE TRUTH!” Roared France gleefully.

“Wait France? Stop teasing the poor yank, that is not true.”

“Oh but it is mon amie. We are the world’s capital of posthumous matrimony.”

“THAT IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF FRANCE!” England blurted at the ginning man, while America was rocking in horror and denial.

The rape face returned, the maniacal laughter began. “We will marry England, one way or another.” 

“Sweet mercy, don’t joke about that France.”

“I’ll drag you over the border.”

“Shut it you filthy pomp!”

“I won’t need your ‘I do.’ No objection from a dead man.”

England threw his teacup at the man landing hard on the side of his head. France pouted rubbing his wound. “Ow that really hurt. I was joking jeeze, relax England…” A sly smile. “I know you’ll come willingly.” He dodged the hurtling saucer.

Once England was out of china, France turned his attention back to America. “They say pain is pleasure, so I think it’s time for some payback.”

America gulped.

“I want you to...tattoo England.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Are you insane!” 

“Un peu.” Winked France.

“It is simply not happening. Unacceptable. I maybe slightly intoxicated but you must be hammered if you think a drunk yankadoodle is coming near me with a needle.”

“England it’s cool man, I’m super good at tattoos!”

England groaned. Was he agreeing to this? This permanent act, a part of America engraved in him forever. Absolutely not! …“I swear to god America if you write ‘made in china’ on my arse….”

“Yeah, what you gonna do about it? You gonna punish me?”

“Indeed.” 

“Well now I’m tempted…”

“AMERICA!”

“Relax love I’m joking, just relax. Trust me.”

England bit his lip, considering the command. America’s smile receded in to a concentrated line as England’s eyes searched his before eventually turning away and getting on his hands and knees. It had to be somewhere unseen, just below the waistband; somewhere even he can’t see whatever doodle will be etched on to him for eternity. He groaned again, ‘what am I doing this?’ But he kept pushing the thought out. 

“Alrighty!” America clapped his hands together. “France pass me that pen and find the saucer.” France did as instructed, America searched the fireplace looking for England’s tie, he removed the pin and held it in the flames for minute while empting the pen’s contents on the saucer. He sat on the floor pulling England in to his lap more comfortably. “It’s gonna sting ok bud, but the knack is to trick your brain in to think you’re enjoying it. And then you do.” 

England lifted his hips as an act of confident defiance but also giving America better access. “I don’t need you giving me advice about pain.”

He pulled England back on to his lap pulling at his boxers and patted the cheek down. France watched England blush.

The first strike was fast and sharp. England tensed. America asked for some tissues and France went to hunt for some. While France dithered in the kitchen, America preformed more quick precise pricks. He paused, and rubbed his thumb over the black line. England released his breath. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

“Then why are you still so tense.”

“Because I don’t know what youre bloody drawing on my arse.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Just don’t fuck it up.”

“And ruin this m‘ass’terpiece? Never!”

“As if I’m not in a bad enough position, now I have to listen to your terrible puns?”

“Wow the cheek on this one.”

“Stop it.”

“Butt, this is a joke I can really get behind.”

“Wow, subtle.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, I’ll spank you for that.”

“That wasn’t even clever.”

“It wasn’t a joke. But seriously, do you have an inhaler?”

England push himself up as much as America would let him. “What, why are you ok?”

“…Cause you got that ass ma.”

“Oh for…wanker. HEY FRANCE WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO LONG?”

America was giggling. “Hey, hey Eyebrows.”

England whacked his hand against his forehead. “…What?!” 

“They’re called eyebrows because my eyes are browsing your sweet ass.”

“You’re such an arsehole.”

“I might be an ‘arsehole’ but will that stop me getting in to your asshole?”

England froze. “What did you just say?”

“Lighten up England.” He slapped England’s arse right on the newly red and black mark. England hissed at the pain. “It was a joke.”

“Just get on with it stupid Yank.”

France walked in trailing a robe of toilet paper. “…I didn’t know how much we would need.” 

“Oh just sit down you pillock.”

France went to sit on the floor next to America, eyelevel with England’s rear.

“Must this really be a public show?”

“Oh darling, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“What, how dare you?! Pervert.”

France threw his hand to his chest in mock disgust. “Mon cher. You have a tendency when you are pissed to, what’s the word?”

“Streak.” Grinned America.

“Oui.”

England’s mouth dropped. “WHAT?! No I don’t. I would never do something so crass and vulgar!”

“Then you proclaim your undying love for us.”

“You shut your whore mouth France!”

“Stay still damn it. And is it so hard to believe England?” America chipped in while steadying his hand and his fleshy canvas.

England tried to articulate a spiteful response but it just came out as an indignant splutter. He lay with his arms crossed in a huff while he waited for America to finish. France hadn’t move and was watching America gently wiping away the beads of blood slowly forming. 

“There, done.”

“Really?”

“Yeah dude, take a look!”

England lifted himself up wincing slightly at the tightened skin. France chucked him a compact from his basket. England decided it was too easy to jab the parfait and instead graciously took the mirror and held it behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

He covered his mouth. It was a beautiful black detailed 6 stringed guitar. For some reason he thought his eyes might leak. He blinked hard to stow away the weakness.

“It’s a hot 6-string!”

“America…” But no words followed.

“Don-don’t you like it?” England watched America for the first time express genuine concern for another person, did it really mean that much to him. 

England took two strong strides across the room and hugged the taller man. “I love it.” He withdrew so he could look America in the eyes hands still on his shoulders. “Thank you.”

America’s mouth grew in to the biggest full-faced grin. It was contagious and England followed grinning at the man with pride.

“Eh, I still thing it should have said ‘Insert Stick Here.’” France announced playfully pinging the elastic on England’s boxers so they snapped on the tender skin. England yanked his hair in retaliation. 

“Watch it pony tail.”

“Pfft what are you going to do England, remove your uptight derrière stick and beat me with it.”

“Oui mon amie. Oui.” 

France pretended to swoon. “Oh, the language of love!” He fainted into America’s arms. England rolled his eyes at the display.

“No France don’t die my love.” America cradled him in his arms.

“I cant help it, he is just so French and sexy.” He coughed his dying breath clinging to America’s chest. England crossed his arms in false disparagement. “Give this to him for me, as my final”-splutter- “request.” Another wheezing cough

“Anything.” America stroked the side of France’s face. They closed their eyes, moving in with puckered lips. Their faces dove together meeting something that didn’t feel like lips. They both opened their eyes to see their mouths attached to England’s intercepting hand. 

“I think that’s enough chaps. Let’s crack on shall we.” The men grinned and rolled off each other France reaching for the dice. Gaining a 6.

“I GOT A GOOD ONE!” America’s hand flew up for England’s attention, whom nodded in response. “Ok, France, what do the spikes on the head of the Statue of Liberty stand for?”

England slapped his hand to his forehead. “Seriously America, how much have you drunk?”

“There is 7 spikes each one 9 foot, 150 pounds. Representing the 7 continents. My dear stupid fool. She was built by the French!”

“AH DAMN IT!”

“OHOHOHOH I GOT IT RIGHT! That means I get to forfeit both of you!”

“For God sake America.” England slapped him round the back of the head.

France’s sinister smile and dark eyes watched the exchange. “Boys this aggression is unacceptable.” America looked up with doe eyes rubbing the back of his head. “I think you need to kiss and make up.” 

The statement made England lose his balance while going in for a third swipe at America, he stumbled landing straight in America’s lap. 

America caught the man instinctively, hands firm on England’s waist, but staring at France aghast. “You want us to what?!”

“Kiss.” France grinned relishing every syllable. “French of course.”

“You’re such a pervert France.” 

“Awh you little boys scared.”

“No France shut up don’t you do this!”

But it was already too late. “I’M NOT SCARED, I’LL SHOW YOU!” America was lunging forward at England. 

“NO! AMERICA! Don’t let him get in your head!” Half laughing, half dodging furniture trying to get some distance from the oncoming bull. But his coordination was clouded by innumerable amount of wine and he caught his foot on the corner of the table. America grabbed an outreached arm to stop him from falling and span him into his chest; he backed him into the wall. England fought the groping hands away but the man was too strong America wrestled England’s arms up against the wall pinning them there. America tried to lean in but England turned his head away. This made America pause, the laughing had stopped, he was inches from his skin and he could feel a second heart drumming against his chest. He cocked his head so he could see England’s face, England’s eyes were desperately searching his own. 

America stopped, and looked back at France who raised an expectant eyebrow. America close his eyes a pressed one soft kiss on England’s neck, right below the ear, then released him. England relaxed against the wall, and America moved silently through the room, picked up the board and counters and dropped them into the fire. 

 

“This game has gone too far.”

England cleared his throat; he was in the doorway with his back to them. He spoke up. “It’s late, you may stay the night in the guest rooms or in here if you please. But I would appreciate it if you were not here in the morning.”

The other men blinked. England didn’t look back and retreated to bed.


	12. Chapter 12

The door closed silently. America walked towards it, leaning his forehead on the cool wood, before slamming his fist into it. “FUCKING BUTTS!” 

“He’s never going to change America, it was foolish of us to try.” France was leaning his elbows on his knees, defeated. 

“No! France, we were so close!” America ran his hands through his hair letting his body fall onto the sofa. “You pushed him too far.”

“Moi?! You should have kissed him.”

“I couldn’t…he wasn’t ready.”

“He is, I could see it when we danced.”

America watched France hang his head, he went to sit and support the man. “I know, but something is still holding him back. I didn’t want…I didn’t want him to think it was just the booze or the game, ya know.”

France reached a hand over to play with America’s hair in a soothing unison. “He thinks he stands alone! He’s so infuriating! His pride is his defence; our attacks were not strong enough.”

“He doesn’t believe we are genuine. How…how he reacted to my question. I can’t believe how much that affected him...It was so long ago.”

France sighed. “He’s spent all these years alone. Not letting us come any closer, not even letting us try. He knows how we feel, how he feels, but he can’t accept it. I thought the booze would help ease whatever it is that’s holding him back.”

“We need to prove it…”

“We need to show it…”

“You think we should just go for it?”

“Dispel our final dignity and maybe he will open.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it is such a short one I've been so busy and then I got distracted making T-shirts based on this story lol. But anyway last few chapters coming soon and the rating is gonna go way up so enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

England collapsed into bed, too drained to change into his nightwear, he landed face first his eyes screwed shut, but he could still feel the surging waves of the room. His groan muffled by a mouth full of pillow, he was sure he would be up all night replaying what happened, but the rocking of the room was actually making him fall into unconsciousness. He decided not to fight it and just get some wine-induced peace. He fell from reality hard and fast, it wasn’t really a dream of sorts, just a cold and dark falling sensation. It was continuous, never-ending, but his body was tight braced for an inevitable crash landing. He didn’t know how long he was falling, hours could have passed or minutes, but something disturbed it, something eased, there was a soft light, and his body wasn’t as cold. 

The sensation was getting more powerful; it was flooding up from his feet, warm tides of comfort dispersing in his veins. It was pleasant. He could feel the tension subside and his eyebrows unknot. Whatever it was it was getting stronger, more pronounced, it was pulling him out of the numbness of the dark unconsciousness. He tried to hold on to it in fear he would wake and the tenderness would abate, but he was being drawn back to his worn body.

And there he was conscious behind closed eyes again; at least his head was feeling less groggy, although the room felt warmer than it usually was and he tried to figure out the reason without opening his eyes. His body was starting to regain sensation and he realised how uncomfortable he was. He rolled onto his back recognizing his body had reacted to the strange dream. He sighed, he was with them too long tonight, one can only control their body for so long. The house was silent; they must have left by now. He trailed a hand down, lavish and slow, down the centre of his chest and coming to a rest on his stomach, his little finger tucked slightly under the waistband. The finger traced back and forth admiring the material, he forgot to give these back to America and the thought encouraged his semi. America’s underwear. What had he done in this underwear? What would America do in his? His fingers travelled over the waistband. And France in that thong, how did he pull off something so ridiculous? His hand curved into an experimental tug. He sucked in a breath. His body was somewhere in between a numb dream state and heightened and tingling nerves. 

He stroked up his length again, hardening in his hand. Memories of the evening before started to light up his black canvases. The intensity of waltzing with France. The intimacy of America’s lap dance. He dragged his thumb over the tip, wet seeping through the flag. His hips rose off the bed slightly. He breathed into the night: “Bloody idiots.” His grip tightened. He could almost feel their caresses at his feet, the gentle almost ghosting touches at his ankles, it sent shivers straight to his cock, his toes curled and constricted at the imaginary brushes, his sleepy body reacting so strong to invisible actions, he felt the light fingers turn to lips, France progressing up his left leg, giving attention to every bit of skin and America mirroring the actions on the other, they were at the shins now climbing onto the bed. He felt the bed compress either side of him. His eyes snapped open. It took a second for his eyes adjust to the darkness and make out the two figures at the bottom of his bed still trailing their nails up his feet. 

His hand whipped from his crotch as he tried to sit himself up. 

“Christ! What are you doing?!”

“It’s ok.” America whispered, he continued his caresses more purposely this time. 

England kicked the man away, but France continued, so he pulled his knees up under his arms. “No, it’s bloody not ok! You come into my room in the middle of the night. Start…start touching me, while I’m…I told you leave.”

“It’s ok.” France interrupted, they were moving up the bed both still in their underwear. 

“Stop saying that! How dare you. Perverts.”

“You were thinking about us.” Soothed France.

England blushed furiously hoping it was dark enough that they might not be able to see, but it was obvious they could. “No, I wasn’t. I call everyone idiots, it doesn’t mean I was thinking about you tossers.”

America smiled, now both men sitting in front of him. England’s breathing was frantic and irregular. “England.” America gently took England’s hand and held it to his face, he nuzzled into it, eyes closed. He kissed the palm. A whimpered sigh escaped England before he could stop himself. France took the other hand and did a noble kiss on the knuckles, then pulled the hand flat to his chest. America started drawing kisses on the inside of his wrist and working up his arm.

England watched them both silently trying to figure out why he wasn’t responding in any manner. But America had locked fingers with England and with his other hand; tipped England’s chin into a kiss. France kissed his neck so tenderly on the sensitive veins, tongue sliding up under his ear while his hand traced ticklish patterns on his wrist. America pulled away, England’s eyes were heavy and his focus was hazy, he tried to say something but France’s hand had turned his head and pulled him in for another open mouth kiss while America mirrored the action on England’s neck. 

When they parted both men released England and moved back giving him some space. But England was clouded, his fingers unconsciously rose up and pressed against his lips.

They gave him a minute before France spoke. “We know what you’re fighting and we know how hard it is for you to open up or show emotion, but it isn’t a weakness. It isn’t a weakness to need people.” England’s fists clenched.

America continued. “We need you England. We want to show you…but if you push us away tonight then…” He looked at France who nodded solemnly. 

“Then we will surrender our trying.”

England’s jaw stiffened, he tried to relax his tense fists, but he couldn’t. He tried to untighten his eyebrows, to open his squeezed eyes, to release his taut upright composure. But he couldn’t. So he did what he was able, he leapt forward thrusting through the screaming voices in his head. He landed between the two men pulling them close to him his head resting on their collective shoulders. Right here, was where he was protected from his pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for everyone sticking with this and for all your lovely comments and support! So what most of you have been waiting for, pure unadulterated SMUT is on the way next! You've been warned!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This point onwards IT'S JUST SMUT! You've been warned! Enjoy!

France and America broke into radiating smiles; they pulled the man in tight, enjoying this awaited moment and brimming with the future anticipation. No more words were needed, their bodies were free now and they could read each other without shame or ambiguity. They lowered him onto his back and crawled into his arms, faces buried in the crooks of his neck. Their hands synchronised and trickled down England’s body, warm confident palms pressing up against his chest. America and France folded their legs over England’s so they could nestle closer into either side of his body. They were already grinding soft circles into his legs as the acrobatic fingers travelled downwards towards his cock.

England gasped, his hips thrust the air and he threw his hand up covering his mouth, biting hard into his hand. France gently pulled it away, watching him carefully; he placed a tender kiss on the corner of his lips, letting him know there was no need for hidden emotions anymore, so England pulled him back. Their hands locked together, England deepened the kiss and rolled onto his side gaining better access to the mouth. France’s eyes fluttered shut and he was moaning at the invasion, he could feel England’s erection press into his stomach as they lay side by side. America watched; he watched the tender entanglement, an embrace that should have been done years ago. He smiled at the tiny moans escaping between breaths, it was getting more desperate and it was making his own cock painful. His hand slithered between the two, securing both of their cocks between his fist and started stroking up and down. 

They both inhaled at the intrusion, England arched his back into America. America’s strong build was pressed flat against him, supported and safe. He tilted his head back so America could lean into a kiss. Their tongues fought for dominance, a battle of skin and writhing wet muscles. England was at a disadvantage, he twisted his body, pushing America on his back so he was sitting on America’s lap, his erection flat against him, he could feel it pulse. He pinned America’s hands above his head. The other hand held America’s chin, manoeuvring it as he pleased for perfect entry. America became malleable England’s tongue met no reservation or objection as England’s tongue traced the inner walls of America’s mouth. France giggled at the heated exchange, he settled behind England between America’s legs and with one swift motion, licked a warm stripe up England’s spine. England shivered; forgetting his siege, he laid his forehead against America’s and started rhythmically rolling his hips. They were breathing each other's air as the rocking grew with intensity. France pulled him back so England was leaning into him, they both rode America, hips grinding in unison along America’s shaft. 

France's hand slipped down England’s stomach to his dick he stroked it. America saw the move and his hands flew to England’s hips squeezing them tightly before fingering the waistband. He started pulling the front down slowly, watching England’s expression carefully; still afraid at any moment he could emotionally retreat again. But England held his breath as his erection sprung free the warm air drawing sensitivity to the leaking tip. America couldn’t resist and wiggled free of his leg captivity and pounced on England, kissing down his stomach and licking down the contours of tight muscles. He buried his nose in the light brown pubes, he inhaled England’s scent, and England watched the display blushing profusely.

America’s tongue drew a line up the shaft and settled in the slit. England was holding on to France’s forearms for support as France was toying with his nipples. Feathery touches and nail flicks were exciting them and desperate for more, they stood erect from his tight pectorals. France licked behind England’s ear who shuddered in his arms, the classic sweet spot. France bit down on the earlobe and caressed it with his tongue inside his mouth as he pulled England’s shorts down from the back too. He whispered in his ear before pulling him into a kiss. “I told you, I’d make you beg.” 

England shivered again but still scoffed: “An Englishman will never bend to a Frog.” France chortled at the excited ferocity, he pushed aside his thong and now skin against skin was rubbing between the clefts of England’s arse. England saw white. He fell forward, gripping on to America’s shoulders who had now completely engulfed him, and was bobbing up and down with a slow and sure certainty, while France was dragging his cock in between his arse cheeks, teasing his hole with each stroke. It was too much. “Wait, wait.” He whispered breathlessly. The two men paused releasing England, wide eyes flickered with hesitation, was he calling it off? 

“….I want to watch.”


	15. Chapter 15

England scrambled to the head of the bed, sat in his straight upright manner. A new game was developing. Two powerful countries, two dominant men. But who would come out on top? America and France looked at each other and grinned. Both eager for the fun of the power struggle. They lunged at each other. America succeeding with brute force and threw his hand in France’s hair securing position and was now tightly latched, he pulled hard, smirking as France’s mouth opened. America devoured the man, tongue invading and overthrowing France’s warm reign. France was lost in the kiss for a few moments before he tried to pull back coherent thoughts, as always America didn’t think everything through, both his hands were locked in the blonde’s scalp leaving his weak point defenceless. France had complete freedom with his hands so he scratched down America’s back. America quivered. He realised what was happening and kissed with more ferocity. Once again France lost stability in thought and just clung to the man. It took another few moments before he could continue. His fingers stretched red markings along the spine, he felt the man lessen. He clawed down the hips and followed the beautifully defined abdominal ‘V.’ He grasped the man’s balls. America choked, their lips unlatched as he breathed deeply, eyes closed. France kneaded the pliable skin firmly, not enough to cause pain but enough to project control and flashes of harsh pleasure. America threw his head back and France used to opportunity to push him down, France kicked his legs over so he was sitting on America’s chest but facing away from him. He watched the violent twitches under the Union Jack, the shorts must be causing him pain now, France ripped them off unleashing America’s freedom. France pulled America’s legs up holding him by his thighs, completely bared; France watched the tight hole contract to the exposure. 

England had abandoned composure, his reactions were too strong, his hand was uncontrollable and latched to his dick, stroking himself, teeth sunk down into a bruising lip. He felt America’s eyes on him and they locked. England mesmerised by the tiny reflexes in America’s thrown back face as France captivated his body. France buried his face in America’s balls. His chin bristles tickling the sensitive skin. America swore, eyebrows pinched. England’s bite drew his own blood. France took one ball in his mouth, giving it playful and generous sucks, manoeuvring it with his tongue and applying the same treatment to the other before finally licking down the sensitive gooch and blowing a tight stream of air right on to the asshole. America screamed a profanity and gripped the sheets, he needed to try and even the field, give their audience a good show. 

A surge of power tumbled an unexpecting France off of him and America clambered on top of his rodeo. Now they were both staring at each other’s eager cocks, America on top and France beneath him, in the same position they were in earlier that night on the sofa, but this time they were going to do it right. They swallowed each other with synchronicity and they both gripped each other’s legs for support and gratification. They tried to copy each other’s movements creating this perfect circle of pleasure.

England couldn’t believe what he was seeing, his erection was incredibly painful now, he never thought he would witness something so erotic and he was scared to touch in case it faded out into another one of his dreams. But each stroke of his hand reminded him his fantasy was happening right in front of him. 

They were starting to lose control, their hips had started to thrust to meet the sucks, their tongues were losing their rigidity and focus, they were increasing speed and losing precision. Cock filled moans were dirtying the room, they needed to stop. But it felt too good. It took all of France’s will power to put a stop to it, with all the energy he could muster he held America’s vibrating hips in place, and let the hard member bounce from his mouth, saliva strands still attached. America growled but withdrew too, sitting up and wiping his mouth, both turning to face England. 

But England was panting. As his legs relaxed and lowered they revealed a come splattered stomach. America and France raised their eyebrows. America grabbed England’s ankle and pulled him down the bed. The two men towering over and England lying between them. 

“You liked that then.” Cooed France.

“Too much it seemed.” Answered America.

England blushed. The both leant down and bit his hips like a mirror image. England cried out. But the men started to lick from the hips, licking up the white streams. “Ah, no stop. You don’t need to do that.” England squirmed beneath them, but they held his arms down reassuringly and lapped up his stomach. England whined, his chest heaving up and down, his dick was already semi hard again just from watching. 

France licked his lips then leant over, his thumb resting on England’s chin pulling his lips apart slightly, tutting at the self-mutilation he’d rather endure than expressing his wanton cries, he kissed England deeply, a sweeping tongue removing the blood and healing the tender skin. He retracted and brushed the hair from his face, leaving him to the mercy of America. America pulled England over his lap. He touched the fresh tattoo it must still be causing him pain, not that England would ever admit it. “Time for that promised spank, your punishment for not waiting. I’ve left my mark on one now time to own the other.” He smacked the opposite cheek. England choked on his breath. He wasn’t used to being subject to submissive acts, he was always the one to take charge, but this. America struck again. This was an intensity he had never felt with other partners. Another strike, the movement ground England’s now fully hard dick into America’s leg creating a tiny bit of delicious friction. He could feel the hand print warm through his body. Each attack on increasing sensitive skin was aching his cock. Having America take control of his body like this was a massive turn on, he didn’t know why and he didn’t want to question it. He just wanted to release with each moan and each stinging strike. 

“Ahhheemm.” France cleared his throat. America stopped but England raised his arse a little higher still wanting that sweet sting, instead America sat him up. France was twirling three sets of handcuffs and a collar on his finger.

“Where did you find those?” Spluttered England accusingly. 

“Your top drawer, I was looking for the lube but I found all sorts of equipment…” France’s darkened eyes flashed mischief. “England you naughty boy, maybe I rubbed off on you after all.” 

He tossed them on the dresser. And crawled back on to the bed, folding his limbs over America, he kissed along the shoulder line while England watched enthralled, completely forgetting the invasion of personal belongings, hell, they’d be finding exactly what equipment he’s got hidden soon enough anyway. America closed his eyes enjoying the pampering but when France got to his ear he whispered, “I won. Kneel.” 

America smirked. But his arrogance didn’t apply here. He knelt in the middle of the bed, and leant forward, face flat against the mattress his spine in a beautiful downward arc. France was at his head, he leant forward, his palms sweeping America’s broad back, massaging the muscles. He took the lube and squirted a stream that ran down America’s crack. 

England gulped. France watched his delicate throat constrict and his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Are you ready England?”


	16. Chapter 16

England watched the clear liquid skirt down the immaculate skin, he held a cheek in each hand, spreading the crack even wider, his lips met the end of the spine, he swept the pale expansion of skin with sweet chaste kisses moving closer to the centre. A gentle testing flick of his tongue against the tender skin; grapefruit, France had picked up the flavoured lube. He licked up and down over the pulsating hole, it was already eager for more. America had curled his fists into the sheets, spreading his legs wider hoping for deeper access. England thrust his tongue in without warning. Pushing in and out of the first ring of muscle, the sweet grapefruit mixing with the salty taste of America’s sweat. It was euphoric, England inhaled the perfume and continued thrusting with vigour, swirling his tongue opening up the tight ring until he couldn’t get any further. He coated his finger with more of the liquid silk and again without warning stormed the breach. One finger broke through the second ring and was held tight inside by muscles in spasm.

England pulled out before propelling back in, his mouth bit America’s arse cheeks leaving red welts in his trails. A second finger went in. With each repetition England started spreading his fingers further, America was starting to loosen and starting to respond and back up, he wanted more, but England wanted to take his time, enjoy the way America swallowed him to the knuckle and still wanted more. Three fingers in. America was panting hard now. England crooked his fingers, withdrawing them towards the entrance but scratched along a small squishy lump. America howled. England’s eyes darkened under his eyebrows, a knowing smile curling his lips. He thrust back in making sure his nails infiltrated the same spot. America’s legs gave way. England caught him with one hand; he pulled the other out and supported the man’s hips. His breathing was erratic and so hard. “England…please.”

England didn’t need a second beg, he quickly coated his dick with a few pumps of grapefruit and eased in. He thought America was prepped enough, but the tip struggled. England cursed internally and tried to pull away, but America realised what he was doing and dove back onto England’s dick, he was in completely and the shock caused England’s muscles to weaken and land on America, they stayed like that, just breathing, relishing that perfect fit. America was so tight it was almost painful, England tried to get up as gently as he could, he kissed his cheek, he knew each movement would distress America. America winced as England tried to right himself. England tried to distract him; his hand snaked round and teased his dick. America purred, England focused his motion on America feeling good; he pumped the hard member, his thumb rubbing under the tip, massaging the head. He finally felt America start rocking, ever so slightly England imitated the movements and aligned them with his strokes, immediately America moaned through a mouthful of sheets. England withdrew a little bit further, starting to gain some momentum. His thrusts getting longer and deeper. America was meeting every one. A yin-yang concoction of pleasure and pain. It was just as perfect as England had imagined, and then it got better.

He felt a piercing bite taint his neck. England moaned his appreciation. France sucked the wound as he stuck a lubed finger straight up England’s arse. England gasped at the unexpected guest and France used the opportunity to stick his other hand in England’s mouth. England’s muffled sigh spurred America’s backwards thrusts, and England had to take a moment, he closed his eyes and just enjoy the overload of sensations he was experiencing. The long digit stroked his tongue, he captured, it sucking it and biting gently as France inserted another finger into his anus, he began scissoring. England was so high on sensations he was finding it hard to concentrate on finding America’s prostate. America was going too fast, America was too close. England held the base of America’s dick and America moaned his frustration, he was right on the edge, he just needed that last little push, he tried to push back into England but England held him firm.

France removed his chewed fingers and now was inserting his tongue along with three fingers into England’s puckered hole. England vibrated at the sensation. France latched on to his neck again as his hands spread his cheeks, England felt France probe and slowly push through the rings of protesting muscles. England slowly released a held breath as France entered, it helped with the pain, it wasn’t the most comfortable felt until France pinched his nipple while he pulled out. Spots of white blinded England. It was amazing. He started thrusting back in to America, dragging himself almost all the way out, the tip teasing the twitching entrance then slamming back in. It didn’t take them too long to find a mutual rhythm, each man pushing with equal force. Each so close to the end but none wanting to finish this glorious experience. England marvelled at the absolute bliss his own body was causing himself and the men he had loved for so long.

 

“ENGLAND! AH GOD!” He had found America’s prostate again, he shifted his position slightly, adjusting so each plunge would hit the target. America became a babbling mess as he correctly struck a second time. Just as France thrust into him and found his own prostate. England almost lost consciousness; if France hadn’t been holding him up he would have collapsed on to the man under him. He could feel France’s warm chuckle flow from inside him, but he struck it again and England was vaguely aware he was screaming France’s name. Although, he could hear another voice echoing around too.

 

“England. England, please!” England tried to catch his breath and focus his thoughts on America. One hand tight on his hip and the other stoking his dick he bucked up into the sweet spot. But France was doing the same. It was a bittersweet agony. England quickened his speed, fucking America faster and harder, each thrust attacking America’s bliss button and unleashing a symphony of beautiful screams. England watched America’s face; completely free, eyes rolling in pleasure and the occasional drool strand escaping, it was spurring him on, he ravaged the man beneath him.

“AHHH! FUCK! ENGLAND!” America came violently, his body in spasm, out of control, America lost all vision, all he could focus on was feeling; England pumped him through his orgasm, the strong tender hands easing him through it. England almost lost it from sight and sound alone, but then America’s body clenched, with every thrust he seemed to be getting tighter like America was trying to swallow him whole. Once he was sure America was through the white tunnel, he fucked him harder without regard, and France had the same plan. His needs had never been so fulfilled, being so full of France and claiming America, it was more than he ever thought he would get. And France’s thrusts were unravelling him, his jerks became uncoordinated, and it just took one more harsh bite to the neck for both men to come. Neither were able to support each other, They came hard, screaming each other's name, England filled America and France filled England. Their bodies tumbled in a sweaty heap. They panted into each other, none of the three wanting to break away first. They lay nestled together for an unidentifiable period of time, waiting to come down from their highs.

England finally pulled out and alleviated himself off of France; he rolled on to his back, his arms stretching to the headboard rails, his body had never felt more comfortable, each movement against the soft sheets were still sending gentle pulses of tingling pleasure up and down his body. He looked up at the dark ceiling, listening to the intake of shallow breaths. Who needed Bach. This was his new concerto.

Click.

“Wha?” England gave a tug; his hands were stuck above his head. He was handcuffed to the bed. He turned to a Cheshire grin. A still slightly breathless France.

“So England, which one of us do you pick?”

America reached over and slapped the back of France’s head but England could see through those sleep heavy eyes that he wanted an answer too. The waited expectantly.

Panic set in. “Urmm… So, Scrabble next week?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has stuck with my silly little story, hope you enjoyed it, don’t forget to check out some of my others! Next to be uploaded is an Attack on Titan fic where Levi is a masochist. Also I don’t know if anyone is interested but I’ve just done an American/Britain and German/Italian t-shirts here http://tee.pub/lic/2TDm0B5IcKw See you soon! <3


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